


Time Heals All Wounds (apparently)

by EbonyKnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sherstrade Month 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Sherlock is in a huff after an argument with John, but Greg knows just how to soothe him.There is fluff. And kissing. And then a bit more fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. If I did there would be a lot less of John Watson and more of Greg and Mycroft. And then a bit less of John Watson. 
> 
> Written for day 18's prompt of 'time heals all wounds' over at Sherstrade Month. I set out to write fluff, but apparently can't write anything at the moment without taking a pop at John. Still, there is fluff, so not a complete fail. 
> 
> Not beta'd so all errors are mine.
> 
> Feedback is loved :)

“They say time heals all wounds, but obviously they’re wrong! Who are _they_ anyway? Idiots, clearly,” Sherlock ranted, pacing. For the second time inside the fifteen minutes that Greg had been there, he stepped up onto the table, bare feet trampling the papers scattered across its top, and onto the sofa where he stood glaring at the pictures pinned to the wall.

Greg looked up at the younger man from his position at the end of the sofa, concerned; Sherlock’s pyjama top was misbuttoned and the blue dressing gown was in desperate need of a wash. “What happened?” Greg asked for the third time, and his question apparently made it through, finally, for Sherlock sighed explosively and lowered himself gracefully until he was, more or less, sitting down, knees drawn up to his chest.

“I visited John yesterday and we had a disagreement about something stupid. I told him that I was leaving, because we were getting nowhere with the case, and he accused me of walking away every time I’m faced with something I don’t like.” Sherlock wrapped a long arm around his legs, hugging them close to his chest. “How many times must I apologise for faking my death? It was necessary to save the three of you: there were no other options. Mycroft and I—”

“—I know, Sherlock. You explained when you came back, and I get it,” Greg interrupted, reaching over to take hold of Sherlock’s free hand, stroking soothingly with his thumb. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

Sherlock huffed but did not pull his hand away, which Greg took as a good sign. “Every time we have a disagreement, he either brings up my fake death or Mary’s sacrifice. Nothing I do makes any difference.”

“That’s his problem, not yours. Mary made that choice. I was there; there is no way you could have known she would do that, and nothing you could have done to stop her. Come here,” Greg said, dropping Sherlock‘s hand and holding his arm out. Sherlock shuffled along the sofa until Greg could get an arm around his shoulders. “Have you eaten today?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled, face pressed against Greg’s neck. 

“How about you go for a shower and I’ll make you some lunch?”

Sherlock nodded but showed no other sign of actually wanting to move. Instead, he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below Greg’s ear and sucked gently. “Why are you so understanding? Even Molly gets annoyed about it occasionally, and she knew of the plan from its inception.”

Almost against his will, Greg’s head fell back, giving Sherlock better access to his neck. “I’m in love with you, aren’t I? That doesn’t go away, even when you’re being a brat or showing Jacob how to take the washing machine apart. Besides, me whinging about it now isn’t going to make those years any less painful, is it?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock murmured, and his hot breath against such a sensitive area caused Greg to gasp as gooseflesh broke out down his right side. “So sensitive,” the younger man whispered, and Greg’s resolve crumbled. With two fingers under Sherlock’s chin, he lifted his face until he had the right angle and then moved in for a kiss. 

Long minutes were lost to the kiss, and Greg would happily have lost whole days in the same way. For years Sherlock had insisted that romantic relationships were not his area, that he would inevitably hurt Greg and that satisfying a physical urge, no matter how strong, wouldn't be worth the damage done to their working relationship. However, something had changed in the wake of the situation with Eurus, and the younger man had turned up at Greg’s flat a week later and declared that, idiotic as it undoubtedly was, he could no longer fight his desire. They were now six weeks in to what Greg called being ‘partners’, and though Sherlock disdained the term, there was a definite warmth in his eyes whenever Greg used it in his presence. 

“You’re far too good at that,” Greg said, slightly dazed, when they eventually parted. 

“Of course I am. When have you ever known me to do something I can’t do well?” Sherlock asked haughtily, pulling away from Greg’s embrace and standing up. “If there's nothing edible in the fridge, a ham salad baguette from Speedy’s will do,” he declared, walking away, dressing gown flaring behind him.

Greg laughed and levered himself up, making it to the kitchen as he heard the shower start. He had just opened the fridge, unsurprised at finding a tub of what looked like human tongues on the middle shelf, when he heard the bathroom door open and Sherlock called, “Oh, and Greg? I won’t say it often, but I love you too.”


End file.
